


Saturday Mourning

by ShoutIntoTheVoid



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Relationships - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Polyamory, it is a heart wrenching story but is ultimately about love, reference to past homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:26:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8007934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShoutIntoTheVoid/pseuds/ShoutIntoTheVoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty is in a good place. Its been a few years since graduating Samwell and he is settled into life with his three best friends and the loves of his life. He should have known it couldn't last forever. Tragedy always strikes when you least expect it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturday Mourning

**Author's Note:**

> Just a disclaimer, I know Bitty is gay. Bitty knows he is gay. Everyone knows Bitty is gay. Not all love has to be romantic/sexual. Please enjoy the fic :)

Saturday mornings are always quiet in their house.

 

Lardo has a shift at the gallery until noon, Jack has practice until 3, and Shitty always has overflow work at the firm, and usually wasn’t home until the evening.

 

So, Saturday mornings were for Bitty.

 

It was his chance to try out new recipes without the pressure of anyone eating them before he could check their quality. It was a chance to take a trip to his favorite farmers market that was too far out of the way to be a regular stop. It was also a chance to sleep in, which was rare in their home.

 

This particular morning, Bitty was doing none of that. He was instead in the process of making Lardo’s favorite guava pastries he’s made a dozen times so that they would be fresh out of the oven by the time she got home.

 

He checked the clock on the oven, “11:00” it read.

 

Bitty put the tray of pastries into the oven, set a timer, and went about cleaning his dishes.

 

He was halfway through scrubbing a bowl when his phone rang. Noticing his mama’s caller i.d. he set down the bowl, took off his cleaning gloves and answered.

 

“Hey mama, I thought you were gonna call this afternoon?” Bitty sang.

 

His chipper tone was contrasted with the wretched sob that was her answer.

 

Bitty’s eyebrows knitted in concern, “Mama? What’s wrong?”

 

“Oh Dicky!” She wailed, “Sweetheart” She sobbed again, and Bitty lowered his hand to brace himself on the kitchen counter.

 

“Mama take a deep breath,” he ordered, “what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

 

She hiccupped on the other end, “Dicky baby, it’s your father.” She started sobbing again and Bitty’s heart fell into his stomach.

 

“Oh lord, mama what happened? Is Coach alright?” He could barely speak.

 

“Sweetheart, he’s gone.” Susan Bittle choked on her words before crying again, but her sobs barely registered to Bitty.

 

His mother kept going, and Bitty was able to catch the words ‘heart attack’ and ‘couldn’t revive him’ and that was all there was to it really.

 

“Dicky?” came a faint call.

 

“Dicky?” and Bitty snapped out of his daze.

 

“Yes mama, I’m here.”

 

“Baby, I was just saying that the funeral will be Monday so-“

 

“I’ll be on a plane as soon as I can get a flight.” He interrupted her.

 

“Alright baby, I’ve got to go but I love you. I love you so much.”

 

Tears formed in Bitty’s eyes, “I love you too mama.” And then the line went dead.

 

Bitty set down his phone and braced the counter with both hands. His breath was coming quickly and his tears were threatening. When the first tear fell, he swung around to the kitchen island where bowls and pots and pans were left un-cleaned, and with a great amount of force he swiped them all to the floor.  

 

Cookware scattered around the hardwood, crashing with thunderous booms and clanks, and when the final spoon stopped rattling and all that was left was the din, Bitty’s legs gave out, and he slumped to the floor.

 

 

Larissa was excited to be coming home. Bitty had promised a special treat and that was always something to lift your spirits.

 

She had fantasized about his pastries the whole car ride home, and when she opened the front door to their house, she was expecting to find her shortest boyfriend standing by the sink, cleaning and listening to Beyonce.

 

But, when she looked over from the front door to the kitchen, all she saw were mixing bowls on the floor.

 

That was strange.

 

She set down her bag near the coatrack and called out, “Bitty?”

 

There was no response, and she kept her cautious pace toward the kitchen. As she neared the island, she could hear a faint sniffle.

 

She quickly rounded the corner to find the baker tucked with his back against the wall of the island and his knees against his chest. The palms of his hands were painfully digging into his eyes as he let out a shuddering sob.

 

“Eric!” She whispered alarmed. Dropping next to him on the floor. She gathered him into her arms and cradled his head, her fingers tucked into his hair.

 

He rested his head in the crook of her neck and sobbed louder now, shaking in his girlfriend’s arms.

 

It was moments like these that would come to mind when Eric would find himself defending their relationship. He was sure as shit homosexual, both Shitty and Jack could attest, but not everything about love had to be about sex, and when it came to loving people, there were few that could hold a candle to what he felt for Larissa.

 

She held him while he cried and spoke softly calling him sweet names and telling him he will be alright.

 

When he finally had some semblance of calm, and was no longer shaking too violently, Lardo tentatively asked, “Bitty, what happened?”

 

He lifted his head from her shoulder and looked at her in the eyes. His own were red and wet.

 

“Coach had a heart attack.” He stated, voice raw, “Larissa, he’s dead.” He sobs dryly, no more tears left for him to cry.

 

“Oh god.” Lardo sighs. She holds him longer, and when his eyes become heavy with fatigue, she takes him to the bedroom, and tucks him in to the thick blankets and places señior bun in his arms.

 

Taking a shaky breath she decides she needs to call Jack and Shitty. They need to make a plan, Bitty shouldn’t have to deal with this, at least not alone.

 

She walks back to the kitchen, notices the oven is on and the timer is beeping, and turns both off, removing a tray of pastries and placing them on the counter.

 

They were her favorite, and it’s such a sweet gesture, and her heart swells with affection for the man who made them, and then it breaks a little bit when she remembers the state she found him in.

 

She calls Jack first.

 

He picks up after the second ring, “Hey Lards. I’m about to go back on the ice, what’s up?” He answers fondly.

 

“Jack,” She says seriously, “you need to get home. Now.”

 

“What’s going on? Are you hurt? Is Bitty hurt-“

 

“Jack,” she interrupts him, “Coach died this morning.” She says softly.

 

“No.” he gasps.

 

“He had a heart attack, and from what Bitty told me, he couldn’t be revived.”

 

“I’m leaving now.” Jack says, “I’ll be home in 20.”

 

“Ok, love you, hurry.” Lardo hangs up the phone and dials Shitty.

A female voice answers, “This is B. Knights office how can I help you?”

 

“Hi Mandy,” Lardo sighs, “It’s Larissa can you put him on please.”

 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Knight is currently in a conference call but I can transfer you to his voicemail or give him a message?”

 

“Mandy,” Lardo said firmly, “This is an emergency, I need to speak with him right away.”

 

“Hold on one moment.” Mandy says politely before placing Lardo on hold. When the line picks back up again, its Shitty’s voice that answers.

 

“Hey babe, listen I’m really busy right now, I-“

 

“Shitty.” Lardo interrupts, “You need to come home right now.” She takes a shaky breath, “Shits, Coach died.”  

 

“What?” He gasps, “Fuck.”

 

“Yeah,” Lardo says, resting her elbows on the counter and wiping her brow with her fingers, “Please, I know you’re busy but Bitty was a mess when I got home. He needs us.”

 

“Yeah.” Shitty agrees, “Yeah, ok. I’ll be there soon.”

 

“Ok.” Lardo breathed a sigh of relief, “I’ll see you then. Love you.”

 

“Love you too.” Shitty whispered before hanging up.

 

Lardo let out a long breath before looking at the mess around the kitchen. There was a lot to do, but it was a start.

 

 

Jack was sweating.

 

Partly because he was coming straight from practice, but also because he was nervous.

 

He spent the whole car ride home practically shaking with emotion, wanting to know that Bitty was ok.

 

He couldn’t imagine what it’s like losing a parent, especially so suddenly. When his grand mère passed away, it was after months of her being sick and bed ridden, that it was almost a blessing for her to go peacefully in her sleep.

 

But to have a loved one die, so suddenly and in pain, it was heart wrenching.

 

When he walked into the house, he found Lardo finishing washing a pile of dishes. He walked over to her, dropping his gym bag by the couch and striding next to her by the sink.

 

“Hey.” He says in a small voice.

 

“Hi.” She responds equally small, drying a bowl and putting it away. She turns to him and he envelopes him in a hug, despite his smell.

 

“How is he?” Jack asks as he pulls away.

 

“He’s asleep. I found him here, crying and he kind of exhausted himself, so I set him up in the bedroom.”

 

Jack nods, and joins Lardo in finishing up the dishes. When they are done, Shitty walks in, his tie crumpled and his hair a mess, like he’d run his fingers through it a thousand times.

 

He gives Jack a peck on the lips and kisses the top of Lardo’s head.

 

“He’s sleeping right now.” Lardo answers the question before Shitty could ask.

 

He nods, “When is the funeral?”

 

“Monday.” Comes a voice from the hallway.

 

There standing in the by the entrance to the living room was Bitty, hair tousled with sleep and eyes red and puffy. He walked over to the island where the other three had gathered, and grabbed a pastry from a plate that Lardo had put them on.

 

He moved to stand in between Jack and Shitty, letting his weight shift so that he was leaning on Jack’s chest. Jack wrapped an arm around the other man and pulled him closer.

 

“The funeral’s Monday. I have to book a flight, I promised mama that I’d be there as soon as I could. I have to pack.” Bitty says, taking a bite of the pastry, his eyes elsewhere, “I have to find my suit.” He breaks away from Jack’s embrace and starts to pace.

 

“Cherie.” Jack said softly, taking Bitty’s hand and stilling him, “Don’t worry about the flights, I’ll take care of it.”

 

“And I can pack.” Lardo chimed in.

 

“You don’t need to worry Bits, we’re here for you.” Shitty says, “Whatever you need.”

 

Bitty looked up at the three people he held most dear, “Thank you.” He whispers.

 

Jack starts looking for four first class flights to Atlanta leaving that night. Lardo begins to pack for everyone, making sure they all had a nice outfit for Monday.

 

Shitty turns to Bitty, “What can I do Bits.”

 

Bitty smiles sadly, “Can we just cuddle a little, I think I need it.”

 

“That,” Shitty says starting to lead them toward the bedroom, “I can do.”

 

Their flight was at 5:00, and it was pretty uneventful.

 

Bitty sat next to Shitty and Jack sat next to Lardo across the isle. This was their usual pairing, it made it easier if people caught them out and about. To the observer they were just a young gay couple and a nice straight couple and nobody asked questions. Bitty often wished that people would know the truth, he at least wanted his parents to know the truth, but he never felt ready to have that conversation.

 

Now Coach would never know.

 

The thought caused tears to spring to his eyes and he had to blink them away. He turned to rest his head on Shitty’s shoulder, and tried to get some sleep.

 

When they got to the Atlanta airport, it was just past 9:00, and waiting by the baggage claim for the group was Bitty’s aunt Mary. He ran up to her, and enveloped her in a hug, holding her as if she were a lifeline.

 

“Oh, Eric.” She breathed. Mary was Coach’s sister, and she was one of the few family members that was completely supportive when he came out as gay. She took him to the Atlanta pride parade that year.

 

“Mary.” He kissed her cheek and pulled away. Shitty, Jack, and Lardo said their hello’s and gave their condolences, and Mary kissed her thanks onto each of their cheeks.

 

The drive to Madison was quiet, the only sound a muffled country radio station.

 

When they pulled into Bitty’s childhood home, nobody moved. It was 11:30 at night and they were all dead tired, but more than that, nobody was ready to face what was about to come when they passed that threshold.

 

None of them were ready for the reality to set in.

 

The first to exit the car was Bitty. He pulled off his seat belt and pushed open the door. The rest of them followed suit, and they all were soon rolling their suitcases to the door.

 

Bitty faced the old wood, looked down at the handle and took a deep breath. He pushed the door open, walking into the home and calling out, “Mama?”

 

“Mama?” he called again when he got no response, “We’re here!” he all but shouted.

 

“Dicky?” came a voice from the hall.

 

Susan Bittle emerged from the shadows of the dim hallway looking frail. Her eyes were red and glossy, her skin looked a little more pale than its usual golden. Her blonde hair was wild.

 

She quickened her pace, meeting her son for an embrace. There was something about the way she held him, the way her arms knew exactly where they fit around his shoulders and her hands cupped the back of his head just right. Maybe it was the smell of her perfume or the softness of her favorite sweater. There was something nostalgic about this hug that had Bitty in tears immediately.

 

“I’m sorry mama.” He whispered, clutching the fabric of her sweater in his fists. “I should have been here.”

 

“Oh, Eric, baby, you couldn’t have known.” She pulled away with a sniffle, pushing the hair away from his eyes and brushing a few stray tears from his cheeks, “None of us could have known.”

 

Susan smiled slightly through her sniffles, looking down warmly at Bitty, “You’re here now, and that’s what matters.” She looked over Bitty’s shoulder, finally acknowledging the other people in the room. She made eye contact with Jack, and then Lardo, and rested her gaze on Shitty, “Y’all’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

After a brief exchanging of warm words and condolences, both Susan and Mary lead the party to their respective rooms. Lardo and Bitty would be sharing his childhood bedroom and Jack and Shitty would take the guest room.

 

Bitty sat on his bed in his night-shirt and Pajama bottoms, staring off at his trophy shelf. He has often looked at that shelf and wondered what prizes he could have won that would make his dad proud. If the little statues had been of football players instead of figure skaters. If the silver medals had been gold and the gold medals championships. Maybe then, Coach would smile at him the way he did the players on his team.

 

He used to think that, his father wished that one of his players had been his son instead of Eric.

 

A slim hand on his shoulder brought Bitty out of his thoughts.

 

“Babe,” Lardo whispered, “let’s get some sleep.” She tugged him toward her by the shoulder to lay next to her on the bed. He rested his head on her chest, the rhythmic motion of her breathing acted as a lullaby, and he could feel the weight of the day pulling him to sleep.

 

Closing his eyes, rest claimed Bitty, thoughts of his father fading into his slumber.

 

Shitty has never had a worse night sleep in his life.

 

He was consumed with sadness, and all through the night his mind wandered to Bitty.

 

He knew that Bit’s relationship with his dad was complicated, in much the same way that Shitty’s own paternal relationship was a complete mess, but the idea of losing his father,

 

It was unimaginable.

 

One of the things that Bitty and Shits bonded over initially was the parallels in their home lives. Their dads having expectations that were too high for either man to reach.

 

He couldn’t imagine the devastation Bitty must be feeling at the loss.

 

When light poured through the cracks in the window of the guest room, and it became clear that sleep was a lost cause, Shitty peeled himself away from a snoring Jack and creeped out of the room.

 

Shitty made his way to the kitchen where he assumed coffee would be. Sitting on a bar stool, scrolling on a computer, and sipping at a cup of joe was Susan Bittle. Shitty startled a bit, deciding if interrupting her would be a good idea, when Susan swung around in the chair to face him.

 

“Mornin’ Mr. Crappy.” She yawned.

 

“Morning Suzy Q” He said warmly.

 

“If you want coffee there is a fresh pot in the machine.” She offered, nodding toward the Mr. Coffee. Shitty nodded his thanks and went over to pour himself a cup.

 

Leaning on the kitchen counter he asked, “What are you doing up so early?”

 

Susan snorted, “I should be asking you the same thing. Woulda thought my future son in law would be needing his beauty sleep.” She took a sip of her coffee.

 

“Couldn’t sleep.” He said softly.

 

She nodded her understanding, “Yeah.” She said almost inaudibly before taking another sip of her drink and turning back to her computer.

 

Shitty watched her as he drank. Susan was another element to his insomnia. She couldn’t be any more than 53 and yet here she was, a widow.

 

What if Bitty died that young? Or Jack, or Lardo? What if he was the one to go? It was too much for him to process.

 

Why was it always death that caused us to consider our lives?

 

Before he could answer his own question, Bitty walked into the kitchen, wordlessly grabbing a mug and pouring himself some coffee. He silently strode over to his mother, giving her a kiss on the head before walking toward Shitty, and leaning against him and taking small sips of his beverage.

 

Shitty instinctively rests his arm on Bitty’s shoulder, reaching his hand up to card his fingers through the smaller man’s head.

 

They stand there, periodically taking sips of coffee, until Bitty breaks the silence.

 

“Mama, what’re you looking at?” He croaked, voice hoarse with sleep.

 

“I’m seeing if we cant get the armed forces to come out tomorrow and do something in the service.” She took a long gulp from her mug and continued scrolling, “y’know your daddy was in the Army for a bit, just to pay for college and stuff, but I think it still would warrant some sort of honor.”

Bitty nodded, “What else needs to be done for the service?”

 

Susan turned around in her chair once more, “Nothing sweetheart. It’s all been taken care of.”

 

Bitty furrowed his brows, “What do you mean?”

 

“Well,” Susan sighed, “Dicky, a few years ago, when you were finishing high school and your daddy turned 50, he went through a bit of a mid-life crisis. He was constantly worried that he wasn’t prepared enough. ‘Suze’ he’d say, ‘Suze I need a game plan.’” she sighed, “I would tell him he was being crazy, but then I guess I was wrong.” Her words drifted off, and she frowned, “Either way, he set about getting all of his things in order, his will, his funeral arrangements.”

 

“I found it all quite morbid at the time, but I guess it was a blessing. I couldn’t even imagine doing all that now.”

 

Bitty set down his mug and walked over to his mother, taking her hand and pulling her onto her feet to hug her.

 

Over her shoulder, Susan caught Shitty’s eye. With a nod of her head, she motioned for him to join them.

 

Cautiously, Shitty approached the pair, wrapping an arm around each and pulling them toward his chest.

 

“Oh, Dicky!” Susan exclaims in realization, pulling away from the embrace slightly, “there is one thing you need to do.”

 

Bitty pulls away to look at her, “What mama?”

 

“You need to write the eulogy.”

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Bitty muttered, dropping his head onto his keyboard in defeat.

 

His mother and aunt were out doing some shopping for the wake that evening, and Bitty was trying (and failing) to write his father’s eulogy. Trying to find the words that correctly expressed how he felt was like pulling teeth.

 

Bitty felt a large hand on his shoulder, and he lifted his head off the keys. Jack’s thumbs pressed in between his shoulder blades, trying to relieve some tension.

 

Bitty moaned, unsure if it was because of the circular motions of Jack’s fingers, or his own frustration with his task.

 

“Why don’t you read to us what you’ve written so far?” Lardo suggests from across the table.

 

“Yeah,” Shitty agrees, “Maybe we could help.”

 

Bitty sighs and turns his computer around to face Shitty and Lardo, leaning back into Jack’s hand.

 

“Okay,” Shitty says, clearing his throat and reading aloud, “My father was a good man. He loved his sport and his team. He loved his town.” The words ended abruptly and Shitty sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Well, it’s, uh-“

 

“Shit.” Bitty deadpanned.

 

“No-“ Shitty said at the same time Lardo said “yeah.”

 

Shitty glares at her and she shrugs, “What? Bitty knows, there’s no point in sugar coating it. He needs help.”

 

“Thanks Lards.” Bitty mumbled rubbing a weary hand over his face, “I just don’t know what to write. What can I say about my dad that everyone else already doesn’t know?”

 

“I know its hard mon lapin. Maybe you could write about your relationship? Special things just the two of you did?” Jack suggested.

 

“My father was a simple man and most of our deep talks consisted mainly of grunts and vague football terminology.” Bitty deadpanned, “because that sure sounds sentimental and heartfelt.”

 

“Maybe you could pick a memory and just talk about that? Tell a story that meant something to you.” Lardo suggests.

 

“Coach never really did anything like ‘father-son’ bonding. The closest we really got was him coaching my peewee football and y’all know how that went.” Bitty drops his head to rest on his arms which are folded on top of the table, “And that’s my problem. My relationship with coach wasn’t about moments or words, it was all feeling.

 

“It was subtle and if you turned your back for a second you missed it.”

 

The wake was at 5:00 pm that night. Bitty spent most of the first half hour nursing a beer and hiding from people trying to relay their condolences.

 

He didn’t care that the next-door neighbor who moved in a few months prior felt terrible, why did her feelings warrant an interaction with him? Why must he sit through dozens of people telling him they’re praying for him? Isn’t he dealing with enough of his own emotions, does he really need to take on all of these other people’s?

 

At this point he’s only doing it for his mother, well, and aunt Mary too. If things were his way, Bitty’d be up in his room, tucked into bed, and alone with his thoughts. The truth was that Bitty still didn’t know how he felt about the whole thing (besides the base sadness) and having to make small talk with people he barely knows who all want to tell them they’re sorry, really doesn’t help.

 

It was about 7:15 and when Lardo decided that Bitty should probably switch to something less intoxicating to drink.

 

Making his way over to the drink station his aunt had set up, Bitty started to pour himself a glass of ginger ale when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

 

“Um, Excuse me, are you Eric by any chance?” A broad young man, no older than 17 asks.

 

“It depends on who’s asking.” Bitty deadpanned.

 

“Ah well, my name is Toby“ the kid brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck, “Your dad was my coach, I play for Middleston High.”

 

Bitty took a sip of the drink and nodded, glancing over at his significant others who were piled on the couch in the living room watching him. Shitty gave him a look asking ‘do you need an out’ to which Bitty nodded ‘no’.

 

“He was a great coach.” Toby said awkwardly, “he really knew how to motivate the team. I wouldn’t be half the player I am if it weren’t for him.”

 

Bitty hummed, lips tight, “Well y’all did make him proud.”

 

“Not as proud as he was when you captained your team to a national championship your senior year.” Toby huffed a laugh.

 

“How do you know about that?” Bitty’s eyes narrowed.

 

“Oh! My freshman year it was all coach would talk about! That and how his son would be the first in his family to graduate college.”

 

“He told y’all about that?”

 

“Yeah! He told us about every one of your accomplishments, he was really proud! I kind of feel like I’m meeting a legend right now. Here’s coaches boy! In the flesh!”

 

Bitty was awestruck, his mouth agape as he took in Toby’s words.

 

“Man, it’s my senior year and I never thought I’d get to meet you. I wish it was under better circumstances.”

 

“Yeah.” Bitty whispered eyes watering, “Excuse me Toby.” Bitty set down his drink and bolted outside as fast as his legs could take him.

 

“Bitty!” Jack called after him, getting up with Shitty and Lardo to follow him, but Susan, who had been keeping an eye on Bitty the whole night stopped them.

 

She held out her hand and said, “I’ve got this.” Before turning to follow Bitty out to the backyard.

 

Bitty was sitting on the bench swing in the backyard that hung from a tall tree overlooking their lake. When he was younger, Bitty would come out here when he was angry or sad. It was a great place to think, calm and serene.

 

It was like the lake and the tree knew about his problems and could offer him wisdom.

 

Bitty swung on the bench, silent tears on his cheeks, wishing for some of that wisdom.

 

When Susan sat next to him, Bitty wasn’t phased, he continued to look on at the water, head stacked firmly on his palm.

 

It was silent for a while, the pair opting out of words and settling into the other’s company.

 

After a few minutes Bitty spoke.

 

“He was proud of me.” It wasn’t posed like a question, but there was something uncertain in his voice.

 

Susan turned to stare at her son. She looked at his blonde curls, which were her mother’s, his small nose, which was hers, his jawline, which was her father’s, and his eyes.

 

Those were her husband’s.

 

“Eric,” the use of his real name was sobering, “There was never a day of his god given life that your father was not overwhelmed with pride for you.”

 

“What about the figure skating? And the baking?” Bitty sniffled, “What about peewee football?

 

“What about being gay!?” he accused.

 

Susan smile was laced with melancholy, “Sweetheart, your daddy and I only ever just wanted you to be happy. We didn’t care how, long as you didn’t hurt yourself or anyone else.”

 

Bitty sobbed, falling into his mother, resting his head in her neck. In that moment, he felt so small, like he was a kid again, not a man of 26 years.

 

He pulled himself away and wiped at his face.

 

“Mama,” Bitty’s voice was small, “I’ve got to tell you something.”

 

“What is it baby?”

 

Bitty sighed, “I wanted to tell both of you, and I cant, but I don’t want to keep it from you any more.”

 

“Mama, I’m not just dating Shitty. I’m dating Shitty and Jack and Lardo. All three of them. This whole time. We love each other.”

 

Susan reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear, her smile was serene, “Dicky, I know.”

 

Bitty’s eyes widened, “What? How?”

 

“A few Christmases ago, Richard went to get a midnight snack, and overheard some things he wasn’t meant to.”

 

Bitty’s face went red.

 

“He sure was in a bit of shock at first but we talked it through and we both decided that if you were happy, which it sounded like you were, then we were happy, and we would wait for you to tell us on your own terms.”

 

Susan smiled but Bitty continued to gape in shock, “You mean, Coach knew, and he was ok with it?”

 

His mother’s face grew serious, “Eric Richard Bittle. Your father loved you something fierce, and I don’t want you to ever doubt that. I wont let you.”

Bitty wiped at his eyes once more before gathering his mother in his arms, “I love you.”

 

“Oh sweetheart. I love you more.”

 

Bitty woke up Monday morning in Lardo’s arms, her soft breathing warming the back of his neck. He looked up to see his trophy shelf, and smiled. Ever since the night prior, Bitty’d been thinking about his dad in a new light.

 

He let his mind start to drift to his father hugging him tight when he got his acceptance letter and scholarship to Samwell, thought about his dad smiling at him from behind the glass on the ice when he won his first hockey game.

 

He couldn’t pick at words, but there were faces and touches and those meant more somehow.

 

Bitty sluggishly put on his dress shirt and slacks as Lardo pulled on her dress. He pulled on his nice jacket as Lardo brushed on mascara and eyeliner.

 

They sat next to each other on the bed, thighs touching as they each put on shoes.

 

Waiting for the pair in the living room were Shitty and Jack, standing awkwardly in their black suits. They each placed a kiss to Bitty’s cheek and waited in silence for Susan and Mary.

 

At 9:00 almost exactly, the whole party was ready and piling into Mary’s mini van. Jack and Lardo in the back seat, Shitty and Mary in the front, and Susan and Eric in the middle.

 

Susan was looking out the car window with a frown, deep in thought, when Bitty covered one of her hands with his own, giving it a squeeze and her a little strength.

 

The ride to the funeral home was uneventful and quiet. The precession of people and their condolences that awaited them, even less so.

 

By the time everyone had arrived to the grave site, and the priest was well into his speech, Bitty started to feel the weight of the moment set in. There in that box was his father.

 

He tuned out the priests words, and looked down at the sheet of paper folded in his hands. He’d finally been able to write the eulogy, but he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to say it aloud.

 

Every time he looked at the casket, bile made it’s way up his throat.

 

When the priest’s words faded to silence, and Bitty knew it was time, he felt like he couldn’t move.

 

Jack put an encouraging hand on his shoulder, and with that strength and a deep breath, Bitty walked up to the makeshift podium.

 

“Thank you all for being here.” Eric’s words shook as he struggled to open the folded paper, “It means a lot to me and my family, and it would mean a lot to Coach- to my dad.”

 

Bitty unfolded the paper and smoothed it out onto the podium. He cleared his throat and began,

 

“My father to most was a simple man. He had few words and stoic eyes and never let you see the hand he was dealt.

 

“He liked football and sweet tea and mint julips. He was a southern boy, and typically that was all you saw. It was all he let you see.

 

“But, my dad was not just some hard, impenetrable man.” Bitty looked up at his mom who had tears in her eyes, “He loved few precious things. He loved his wife, he loved his sister,” he could hear aunt Mary sniffle, “And- and, he loved me.”

 

“He used to joke when I was little that I was his favorite son,” Bitty laughed wetly, “’but I’m your only son.’ I would tell him, but he’d just chuckle and tell me, ‘well, I’m your only daddy so I guess that’s fair.’”

 

The crowd laughed.

 

“I was his only son, and he was proud of me. But, he was my only dad, and I was proud of him.” Bitty choked on a sob, taking a shaky breath to compose himself, “ He was my only dad, and now he’s gone.

 

“But I wouldn’t trade a second of it.“ Bitty smiled up at his mama who was wiping away tears with a hanky, “I’m not much for religion, but I hope wherever he is, its peaceful, and for his sake, it has ESPN.”

 

The crowd chuckled at the joke, but most were too choked up.

 

Bitty sat down in between his mama and Shitty.

 

Shitty placed a wet kiss to Bitty’s cheek and his mama grabbed his hand, squeezing it and bringing it up to her face to give it a kiss.

 

Lardo reached over shitty to take Bitty’s other hand, and Jack reached behind all of them to touch the back of his neck.

Bitty hoped that wherever Coach was, he could see this. Could see how much love was in Bitty’s life and be content.

 

That somehow he could share in Bitty’s happiness.

 

A burst of warmth spread over Eric’s chest, and he thought, perhaps, maybe he could.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it. It took a while to complete since I just got back to school! please comment what you thought!


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